


The Sound of Wires Crossing

by Mosca



Category: Chasing Amy (1995)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mosca/pseuds/Mosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Banky discovers the joys of gay sex and doesn't really get over Holden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Wires Crossing

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Amatia and Sandyk for beta reading.
> 
> The title is from "Foreword" by Christine Fellows.
> 
> Takes place shortly before, during, and shortly after the last scene of the movie. Pretty much ignores Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back, because I've seen it only once, and never while sober.
> 
> Banky uses language and expresses attitudes that might annoy or offend people, although probably not any people who enjoyed Chasing Amy itself.
> 
> I originally posted this story to my Livejournal in October 2005.

Banky is totally sold on gay sex. For one thing, gay guys actually want to suck your dick. They're not trying to trade blow jobs for backrubs or to get you to say you love them. They actually take a look at your dick and want to put it in their mouths until you come. And most of them give fucking _excellent_ head, too. They'll suck on your balls, they'll put a finger in your ass, they'll deep throat you and then swallow and at _no_ point will they complain.

The first time he went to the bar that Hooper sent him to, it was mostly in order to prove Holden wrong. He got blown in the men's room. The guy's skill and prowess intimidated him so much that the next morning, he bought himself a big bunch of bananas and practiced until he wasn't gagging anymore. He went to the same bar at the end of the week, let a guy in a Pansy Division t-shirt buy him three beers, and then introduced the guy to the backseat of his car. Actual dick is more complicated than a banana, but gay guys are really good about hygiene, and they're fucking rock stars when it comes to feedback. You always know where you are when you're blowing a fag. 

So Banky is one, he guesses. Close enough, anyway. It's more like, gay guys are easier to deal with than chicks are, especially if you just want sex and not a lifetime commitment. And he's getting plenty of play, so he's not in any position to complain.

He may even have a boyfriend. They're in that weird place where they're fucking a lot, but they're also fucking other people. But on the other hand, they're also hanging around Banky's apartment playing NHL '98 and arguing about whether Han shot first. If Banky likes talking to someone as much as he likes fucking them, then it's usually a relationship, or ends up being one. There are a few chicks in his past that were like that, and it didn't last very long, but he still thinks of them as ex-girlfriends, even if in their minds he's probably just some asswipe they can barely remember. So Bradley will probably be an ex-boyfriend when they break up, at the very least.

Bradley teaches math at a Catholic high school in New York. He has plenty of Catholic schoolgirl stories, which he tells Banky even though he's a straight-up homo, because he knows that Banky enjoys them. He lives in a roach-infested hovel in Queens, which means, lately, that he more or less lives in Banky's apartment and takes the train to work. Banky doesn't mind – he likes the company, and he likes the hot and cold running blow jobs. He thinks that if this works out, he could maybe get a bigger place. With the serious fucking bank that _Baby Dave_ is bringing in, he could afford to. They could get one of those big friendly dogs that always looks like it's smiling. 

That was always where the fantasy ended with Holden: they'd have a house and a dog and a cigarette machine. They got around to one out of the three before Holden went batshit on him.

Sometimes he gets worried that he only likes Bradley because Bradley's a lot like Holden. But he's different enough that Banky doesn't think it's a problem. For one thing, Bradley actually wants to fuck him. Whereas Holden just _thinks_ he wants to fuck Banky because he can't get his pointy head around the idea that you can love a person and not want to fuck them. And he really can't get his head around the fact that if you love a person but don't want to fuck them, it is _torture_ for the other person, whether they want to fuck you or not. 

Banky's not over Holden. He's dealing with that. Bradley surprised him by being pretty fucking Zen about it. It takes a while to get over someone you've loved for twenty years, Bradley said. 

Banky doesn't think about Holden all that often, though, considering how frequently he used to think of him. He's busy with the comic, and with Bradley, and with teaching the fucking Whalers who's on fucking top. There were long stretches of his life where he didn't think he was really anybody, where he just followed Holden around. He realizes that he was being a fucking potzer all that time.

He goes to the Big Apple Comic Con to sign some books, meet some fans, and say some random meaningless shit on a panel about new small-press comics. His train gets in late, and by the time he finds his table, Alyssa Jones is sitting on the corner of it. This is nothing new: she's taken to doing it at comic conventions throughout the Eastern Seaboard. "Someday," she says, "you're going to come out, and then you can join the rest of us freaks on the minority panel."

"I'd rather sit in the audience and heckle," he says. He's pretty sure she only bothers with him because he likes dick, which makes him her comrade in protesting the heterosexist dominance of the comic book industry, or some lesbian bullshit like that. But sometimes, she's nice to him in a real way, and he thinks it's her way of showing him that she doesn't hold anything against him. He wouldn't blame her for hating him after the whole thing with the yearbook, but she seems to understand that it wasn't his fault for being jealous, and it really wasn't at all his fault that Holden lost his shit so completely. Anyway, Banky and Alyssa are at every fucking con together, so they're better off getting along.

The fans start showing up, and Alyssa goes back to her own fucking table. A few people ask Banky to sign their old _Bluntman and Chronic_ books, and that makes him a little wistful, nostalgic – something. One of them is this fat fuck who goes on and on about some comics club he started, and Banky doesn't have to listen to a fucking word because Holden has come in the side door, and he is waving and smiling and making hand signals. He seems to be inviting Banky to sneak out of the con for lunch. Banky makes the non-universal sign for "shared moment," and Holden grins. He has a really fucking beautiful smile, now that Banky can let himself see it that way.

Banky finds Holden smoking outside the convention center at lunchtime, and they walk to a diner just far enough away from the con that it's not swarming with Vulcans. Banky thought it would be all weird, like it would take them ten minutes to even start talking. But Holden wants to tell him exactly what he likes about _Baby Dave_ , and to rant about the increase in annoying self-righteousness in all kinds of books that used to be good, and pretty soon they're throwing one of their joint diatribes that makes old ladies and busboys stare at them. It's something that Banky didn't realize that he missed doing, but now he's doing it and missing it at the same time, knowing it'll be a while before he gets another good chance to rag on the entire Vertigo imprint to a sympathetic audience.

It's all going really well until Holden wants to know how he's been. Specifically, everything's fine until Holden calls him on his vagueness and makes what he thinks is a joke about demanding names and dates. Banky sighs and swishes his onion ring in ketchup and tells Holden about Bradley.

"That's too bad," Holden says. "I mean, it's good. It's good that you're happy. But your happiness is fucking up my plans."

"Since when do you have plans?" Banky says.

"Since I've had a year to think about it, and I keep thinking, if you still wanted—" He stops, like it's time for Banky to take the hint already. Banky's taken it, but he wants to avoid admitting that for as long as possible. Holden says, "I do love you. I wouldn't have put up with your bullshit so long if I didn't."

"Don't go there," Banky says.

"What? You said yourself, you've dealt with your gay issues. Not only dealt with. And now that you're _past_ that, we could –"

"We couldn't," Banky says. "Well, you couldn't. I would crawl under the table and blow you right now if I had fewer compunctions about giving someone's ninety-year-old grandmother a heart attack. But you wouldn't do the same for me, and don't tell me you would, because I know that right now you're trying to picture yourself doing it, and you're gagging a little in your mouth. If we were going to start up some kind of... relationship _thing,_ I would expect you to suck my dick. I would want you to take it up the ass and like it. That's not going to happen, and don't interrupt me to tell me I'm wrong, because I know you. You're straight. You like pussy, and after a while, you'd start to miss it, because Holden? You _really_ like pussy."

"I can get over it," Holden says. "I _will_ get over it."

"No," Banky says. "You really fucking can't." He puts enough cash on the table to cover his burger and a non-insulting tip, and he walks out on his best friend one more fucking time. 

Holden follows him out – it looks like he hasn't gotten over his penchant for melodrama, Canadian or otherwise. "What the fuck?" Banky says.

Holden answers him with a kiss. Banky wonders why so many people seem to think that surprising a guy with unsolicited tonsil hockey will gain them any fucking credit with him. But they're already standing in the middle of 7th Avenue getting stared at, and the only way out of this is through. Banky slips Holden some tongue.

Gay guys don't kiss like chicks do. Chicks mostly just stand there and let you kiss them, either pretending you're a good kisser or actually thinking you _are_ good because they have no fucking frame of reference. With fags, a kiss is like the trailer to the porn movie you'll be making if you go home with them. If my tongue feels this good in your mouth, a kiss says, just think what I can do to your dick.

Over the course of the past year, Banky has learned to kiss like a fag. Holden hasn't, and Banky is sure that he never will. Banky pushes him away, but gently. "We've been friends for so fucking long," he says. "Why should we fuck with that?"

Holden wipes his face on his sleeve. "There's really no reason," he says.

"Then let's just forget this whole year ever happened," Banky says. Holden starts to open his mouth, but Banky talks right over him. "Not the part where you're over Alyssa and I'm fucking guys, because those are improvements on the former situation, but the part where we weren't talking. That never happened."

"You can't just pretend things didn't happen," Holden says.

"Yeah, but you can _pretend,_ " Banky says. "I mean, you can pretend that you can pretend."

"Your Earth logic dazzles me."

"I've got to find _some_ way to keep putting my powers of denial to use," Banky says.

Very slowly, Holden lights a cigarette. The other people on the street aren't watching them anymore. "You know," he says, "I have this idea for how to bring Chronic back from the dead."


End file.
